


and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

by quakeriders



Series: to the stars who listen // a collection of feysand au's [6]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Feyre Archeron, Demon Rhysand, Demon Summoning, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mutual Masturbation, past Feyre/Tamlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-11-19 06:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18132239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: The demon’s eyes were inked with a dark bluish purple and dotted with white. Like the night sky, Feyre thought to herself and couldn’t take her gaze from the image.And suddenly, at long last, her fingers itched.or: Feyre is an artist, who is looking for an inspiration and when she sees a drawing of a good looking demon she can't resist the urge to summon him





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HighLadyOfTheSith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighLadyOfTheSith/gifts).



> I blame this fic for everything that is about to happen: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111626>
> 
> have fun.
> 
> title inspo: taylor swift - dress (feysand anthem at it again)
> 
>  
> 
> **moodboard:<http://quakeriders.tumblr.com/post/183524023569>**

Feyre had no inspiration.

She had been wandering around Velaris for the better part of the day, just taking in the sights and hoping to get her creative juices flowing.

But wherever she went, that strange emptiness inside her didn’t fill with a sudden urge.

Walking across her favourite bridge in the city, she stopped to lean against the railing and look over to the Rainbow; the artists quarter and her favourite place in the whole world.

She was supposed to be meeting her best friends in a while, but hoping against hope, Feyre looked at the glistening surface of the Sidra and tried to force a creative breakthrough.

Her professor Amren would probably strangle her, if she returned to class on monday without anything to show her. It had been two weeks since Feyre had last presented something that reached Amren’s high standards.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since she had broken up with her boyfriend and moved into a tiny flat on the other side of Velaris. Her friends, Mor and Cassian - who had never liked Tamlin to begin with - had been supportive and helped her to find the place and move in.

But they had their own lives and Feyre didn’t want to be burden. So she tried to keep moving, one day at a time.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she checked the message from Mor. Feyre wasn’t surprised that her friends would be late. So, she had one more hour to wander around aimlessly before she could get her coffee fix.

She crossed the bridge, slid her hands into her pockets to shield them from the chilly air and walked down the busy streets. Feyre caught glimpses of conversations from passersby and usually she would see a scene so beautiful that her fingers would itch to pick up a brush and recreate it.  But now, all she wanted to do was to sink into her bed and sleep for ages.

Something finally snagged her attention. It was a small shopwindow, decorated with trinkets of all shapes and sizes. She stopped and peered through the glass. Feyre could make out books and statues and vases and any manner of things.

Encouraged by her reaction to the display, Feyre entered the shop.

It was dark and warm inside - oppressing in a way. Faint music came from the back room and Feyre stood in the entrance and looked around.

Nothing really caught her gaze this time, so she took a couple steps towards the first case and peered at the items scattered on the shelf. There was a small box covered with navy velvet, a dagger that seemed to be rusted, a twisted bracelet and a few crystals in varying shades.

She moved on to the next case and spotted books. Most of them were dusty and their spines looked weary from being opened too many times. One book was larger than the rest on the shelf. It was so black that it seemed like it was absorbing all the light. Its spine however looked like it had never been cracked before. The rest of the book looked aged and weary but that spine..

An old book that had never been read. The though intrigued Feyre and she reached for it.

"I wouldn’t touch that one, if I were you." A low voice said from behind her and Feyre almost jumped out of her skin.

She hadn’t heard the young woman approaching her and as she took in her appearance, Feyre’s heart pounded wildly in her chest.

"Why?" Was all she could gasp, fingers still straining to touch the book.

"It’s a gruesome book, full of nonsense and nightmares."

The shopkeepers voice was light and girly, but her face was grim. Although she looked to be no older than twenty-five years old, Feyre felt like she was ancient.  She realised that it was probably the eerie feeling of this junk shop that made her feel this way. And with a sweet, apologetic smile, Feyre pulled the book out of the shelf.

"I’d like to buy it." She said, firmly.

The shopkeeper inclined her head and walked to the counter. Feyre followed her. She dug around in her purse for the money and pocketed the heavy book. With a final goodbye, she hurried out of the shop, happy to leave that dark place behind.

Then she went to meet her friends and listen to the stories of their misadventures.

—

Feyre promised herself that the next time she was meeting Cassian and Mor for coffee, they were actually going to a coffee shop and not Rita’s. Because once they took their places in their usual booth, neither of them would order actual coffee.

So, now it was one am and Feyre was slightly tipsy and unsteady on her feet as she unlocked the door to her apartment. Her purse slid down her shoulder and thumped loudly on her living room floor. For a moment, Feyre wondered why the sound had been so loud, then she remembered her purchase earlier that day.

Sighing loudly, Feyre pulled the book out of her purse and flopped onto the couch. Tucking her feet underneath her body, she placed the heavy book into her lap.

She hadn’t really looked at it before and only now did she spot the pentagram on it’s cover. A slight shiver kissed its way down her spine and Feyre carefully opened the book. She had expected more resistance, since its spine was so stiff. But it opened lightly and the cover lay flat.

_The Summons_ that was the books title and Feyre tried to push the feeling of unease down and began turning the pages one by one. The font was small and looked to be ancient. On a couple of the pages, there were runes and languages that Feyre didn’t recognise. But there were also drawings. Some were in black and white, while others had spots of colour to highlight certain aspects of the image.

Mostly it was blood. And the color was a deep, dark shade of red.

Feyre’s fingers stilled on a page close to the middle of the book.

The double page was about a demon. An artistic rendering of a beautiful man with large membranous wings was inked on the right side. The face was so beautiful and Feyre was shocked to see another colour besides red on the page. The demon’s eyes were inked with a dark blueish purple and dotted with white. _Like the night sky_ , Feyre thought to herself and couldn’t take her gaze from the image.

And suddenly, at long last, her fingers itched.

She wanted to paint.

And the relief that washed through her after two weeks of not being able to do what she loved most, Feyre’s eyes wandered to the summoning spell on the page.

Everything that she needed was right here. A candle, a few drops of her blood and chalk to mark the pentagram that would keep the demon trapped.

Before she could second guess herself, Feyre was off the couch and collecting what she needed. She rolled up the carpet between the kitchenette and couch and kneeled to draw the pentagram.

Then, with shaking hands, she picked up a knife and sliced a shallow cut into her arm. She let the blood drip into a glass and placed it inside the marked off space.

After wrapping her arm with a towel, Feyre grabbed for her art supplies and placed them on the table. Clearing her throat, she began the chant.

She had barely finished the last word, when a dark mist began forming in the middle of the pentagram. It swirled and built and became so dense that Feyre couldn’t see the other side of the room.

Then, it all disappeared and only the most beautiful creature Feyre had ever seen, was left standing there.

He was _magnificent_ , better than the artist's rendering. Though, Feyre thought that nobody could do this man- demon justice. He was simply too beautiful to capture on paper.

Black hair, a powerful body, dark skin and _those_ eyes. Gods, Feyre wanted to loose herself in them.

She swallowed nervously, suddenly realising that she had done and what she was still planning on doing.

"Hello." She said, carefully. The demon began smirking. "Are you Rhysand?"

He shifted his weight to one foot and slid his hands into his pockets. "Yes, but please call me Rhys and do tell me why you thought it was a good idea to summon me."

Oh, his voice was even better than Feyre had imagined. Like velvet and night and seduction. She felt her insides melt. And she realised why so many religions thought that demons were temptations to mortals.

"I want to paint you." She said honestly.

His smirk grew, turning almost feline. And Feyre was painfully aware that he was a demon. An actual, literal demon, that ate souls for breakfast. And probably every other meal as well.

He cocked his head to the side, as if listening to something and Feyre had the horrifying thought that he could read her mind somehow.

"I wouldn’t call it mind-reading." Rhys mused. "It’s more like mind-listening since you’re shouting your thoughts at me."

Feyre gasped. "Oh."

He looked endlessly amused and Feyre fought against the blood that wanted to rise in her cheeks. Had he truly heard everything she had been thinking about?

"Yes." Rhys said, winking slightly. "Don’t worry, I’m used to it."

"Wow, I didn’t know demons could be arrogant pricks." Feyre spat, too fast for her mind to catch up to her mouth. She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes growing wide in horror, but Rhys was already laughing.

Feyre lowered her hand and frowned at him. When he finally stopped laughing, he rolled his shoulders back. "So, how do you want me, darling? I’d suggest a nude painting, but…"

He let the rest of his sentence hang between them and Feyre used the silence to collect her thoughts. Then, she took a couple steps towards him, stopping before the chalk lines.

"I just need you to stand still for a while." She told him and when he gave her a curt nod, Feyre sat down on the couch and pulled her sketchbook and her paints towards her.

She began with a slight sketch. First the rough outlines of his body, then his face and those wings. However as she studied them, she wished for him to spread them out fully for her to see. But the pentagram wasn’t big enough to fit them.

So, instead she focussed on his face and those eyes.

Every time she looked up to his face, his eyes were on her. That endlessly amused smirk pulling on his lips. And after what felt like an eternity, Feyre realised that he hadn’t moved once.

She had coloured his skin and hair and that fine black clothing, leaving only the details of his eyes. So, carefully, she approached the pentagram again.

"Can you come closer?" She asked and he obeyed.

It only took him two steps to reach the edge of the outline and then he leaned down so that they were almost nose to nose. However it felt as though there was a wall of hard air separating them because she couldn’t feel his breath on her skin.

Ignoring their closeness or the lack of it thanks to the wall between them, she studied his eyes.

Indeed, they looked like the night sky. Purple and blue and unending. And flecked with silver specks that looked like stars and galaxies and the universe itself.

For a long while, she didn’t move. She was sure that she could paint his eyes now but she couldn’t bring herself to step away. And after a while, she realised that he was studying her, too.

That pulled her out of the haze. "Thank you." She muttered, hastily and returned to her seat.

It took her another hour before she finished the painting. And when she held the paper, still wet from the ink, up for him to inspect, he gave it a quick once over and then looked at her. "Perfect."

She flushed, again. "Thank you. I mean for letting me paint you."

"Anytime, darling." He said and bent down to pick up the glass with blood. He sniffed at it and let out a small, satisfied hum. "You know how to reach me."

And with that, a puff of smoke and darkness enveloped him and he vanished.

The only thing Rhys left behind was the faint smell of citrus and sea.

And that empty feeling in Feyre’s chest returned.


	2. Chapter 2

Feyre managed to get through two days, before she found herself on her knees, drawing a new pentagram. In the last two days, she got up at seven, went to her classes, met up with Cassian and Mor and got home exhausted. Every night, when she closed her eyes, she could see those violet eyes and that infuriating smirk behind her eyes.

And that emptiness in her chest felt like it was about to crack and split her into a thousand pieces.

So, Feyre drew the pentagram and read the words to summon Rhysand.

He appeared like he did before, surrounded by a cloud of darkness.

This time however, the darkness lingered. Curls of it drafting up from his body and disappearing like mist in the air.

Feyre was still on her knees before him and tipped her head back to look at his face.

He was looking right back, but something dark flickered through his eyes.

A demon. He was a _demon_ , Feyre remembered.

She scrambled to her feet and took a couple steps back. "You said, I could call you anytime I wanted." She rambled by way of an apology. That look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. A warning that this was a predator and she was his prey.

Then, with a slight huff of air, his body relaxed and the lights appeared back in his eyes. The curls of smoke vanished and left him in his fine black clothes, wings missing and arms crossed over his chest.

"I was in the middle of something, darling." He said, taking in her appearance. She was wearing a large shirt that came down to her thighs and nothing else and for a second his gaze lingered on her bare legs.

She flushed and tried to think of something to say.

"You haven’t told me your name yet." Rhys said after a couple beats of silence passed in which they just took each other in.

"Feyre." She replied and wondered how her name would sound on his tongue.

"Feyre." He purred back, smirking. She knew that he had heard her thought then. _Arrogant bastard_. His smirk only grew, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Arrogant, I may be. But it was you who summoned me for a second time." He said and looking around, he noticed the lack of art supplies. "And it seems you have different plans today."

Feyre squared her shoulders and fixed her eyes on his. "I just wanted to talk to you."

He waited for her to go on.

She walked over to the couch and plopped down, folding her legs beneath her body. "You’re a demon." She began and he huffed out a laugh. "Obviously."

Feyre couldn’t stop herself, she rolled her eyes. "Yes, obviously. But what does that mean? What do you do all day? What do you.."

"Eat?" He finished for her, looking endlessly amused.

She nodded. "Yes, for starters. What do you eat?"

He unfurled his arms, the muscles shifting and slipped his hands into his pockets. "I can eat souls for breakfast, like you so elegantly put the last time. But mostly, I eat food."

She blinked. "Then why do you require blood to be summoned?"

"Why do mortals enjoy wine?" He retorted.

"So, you drank my blood?" She asked, looking down at the new glass that was before his feet.

"Hm." He replied and followed her gaze to the new offering. "You taste delicious, Feyre darling. Like starlight and dreams made flesh."

This time, the shiver that went down her spine was not caused by fear. And heat pooled in her core. Feyre bit her lip and tried not to squirm under his heavy, searing gaze.

"What would you do if I let you out of that pentagram?" She asked, surprised by the husky sound that came from her lips.

Gods, was she trying to seduce a demon? What was going on?

His smirk shifted then. Turned almost ravenous. "I would _devour_ you."

For a moment, Feyre wanted to throw caution to the wind and let him have his wicked way with her without asking any more questions. But she wanted to at least give him the illusion that she cared about her safety.

"In what way? As.. food?"

Rhys licked his lips, smirk growing. "No." And when she just kept looking at him, he added, "I’d much rather fuck you, Feyre darling."

Heat rushed through her veins at his words and before she was aware of it, she was pressing her thighs together. She wanted to moan, she was so turned on it was almost comical.

And for a heartbeat all Feyre could think was that she wanted to fuck a demon. An actual demon. From hell; or wherever he came from.

"And afterwards?" She asked, barely able to keep still on the couch.

He smirked again. "I’ll leave until you summon me once again."

"So, you won’t be devouring my soul or taking me to wherever it is that you come from?"

He shook his head, frowning slightly.

"Why?"

Rhys just shrugged his shoulders. "I have my reasons."

Feyre swallowed. Then, she slowly rose from the couch. His eyes tracked her every movement. She took the few steps towards the edge of the pentagram and stopped.

They were still looking at each other, when the air inside the pentagram rippled and a piece of paper appeared between them. Rhys caught it between two fingers and read it. His expression shifted once more and when looked at her, his brows were furrowed.

"As much I want to stay and see where this was going, I have urgent business to attend to." He said, looking truly regretful. "I do wish you will call on me again. Soon."

Feyre swallowed her disappointment. And when she finally nodded, Rhys purred, "Goodnight, Feyre darling."

And he disappeared in a cloud of darkness and smoke.

Feyre flung herself into the couch face first and let out a little scream that was muffled by the pillows. She was disappointed, but also relieved. Had she truly been about to release a demon from his trap?

What if he had been lying? What if at the first chance he got, he devoured her in a way that wouldn’t have been pleasant for her.

But when she thought about never summoning him again, her throat constricted and her chest ached.

No, she had to see Rhys again.

Maybe she needed to do some research before she did something stupid.

_Tomorrow_ , Feyre thought and slipped her hand between her legs, imagining them to be bigger, rougher and tinged with that power of darkness that lit her nerves on fire.

—

"What do you know about demons?" Feyre asked, leaning back in the armchair and taking a sip from her coffee.

Both Mor and Cassian turned to look at her. They had finally managed to meet in an actual coffee shop and Feyre needed to get some information.

"What?" Mor frowned, a pastry in one hand halfway to her mouth. "Where did that come from?"

Feyre shrugged, careful not to spill coffee into her lap. "I thought with your major, you would know all about it."

Mor eyed her more warily, squinting a little. "Feyre Archeron, what are you up to?"

Cassian interrupted them by leaning forward and plucking the pastry from Mor’s hands. "I’m sure Feyre wasn’t planning on actually summoning a demon, Mor. She’s probably just curious about what we bicker about all the damn time."

Mor finally released her from that unreadable gaze and snarled at Cassian. "You better not take a bite out of that, or I’ll-"

Cassian ignored her threat and took a chunk out of the pastry, humming slightly in approval as he began chewing. Mor let out a frustrated sigh and rose from her own armchair. "I’m getting a new one. Do you want one, Feyre?"

Feyre nodded and thanked her friend, before turning her attention to Cassian, who was swallowing and readying for another bite.

"So, what about them then?" Feyre asked quickly, before he could stuff himself again. "Are they dangerous?"

"Cauldron, Feyre." Cassian hissed, looking over his shoulder to where Mor was approaching the counter. "Of course, they are dangerous. They are demons."

She bit her lip, not knowing how to pose her next question. While Feyre had been taking mostly art classes and some classes about literature, both Mor and Cassian were interested in the history of Prythian and the various mythologies of its people.

"Is it true that demons and mortals can have- you know- _sex_?" She asked, hoping against all hope that she wasn’t as flushed as she felt.

Cassian snorted, lowering the pastry. "Yes, where do you think warlocks come from? They are half demons, half human."

"But are they conceived in the usual way?" Feyre pried deeper. She wasn’t sure if underneath his clothes, Rhys was, well endowed.

Cassian looked at her sharply. His gaze eerily similar to that of Mor’s a couple minutes ago. "Why are you asking these questions, Feyre?" He asked, voice a little lower now.

She shrugged, trying to appear bored. "I was thinking about an art project for Amren. And I thought I’d do something about demons."

Cassian didn’t seem to fully believe her, but nodded slowly. "Yeah, they are _conceived the usual way._ " He said, winking a little as Feyre rolled her eyes.

"And what about the pentagrams?" She added, watching as Mor approached another display of pastries and almost pressed her nose against the glass to get a better look.

"What about them?" Cassian, it seemed hat given up on figuring out her intentions.

"How do they work? Can you let a demon out of them? And if you do, what happens?" Feyre asked, her fingers gently running over the mug in her hand. She was trying so hard to sound casual. "Does it change the demon?"

Cassian looked like he was about to tell her that whatever was going on, it was a bad idea. But Feyre just looked at him and his shoulders sagged a little in defeat. "When summoned into a pentagram, demons are contained in a body. Upon being released, they are able to change into their true form. But if they wish to, they can remain in the body they originally appeared in."

Feyre nodded once. "Do you think it would be wise to release a demon from its trap?"

"No!" Cassian replied firmly and his eyes were blazing. "Feyre, whatever you’re thinking of doing, demons are dangerous and you shouldn’t-"

He stopped talking when Mor’s voice floated towards them. "Be a gentleman, Cass, and help me with these."

He sighed and with another warning look, Cassian rose and went to help Mor with half a dozen pastries she had selected. Feyre would have chuckled, if not for the way her muscles had locked up.

Despite Cassian’s warnings, Feyre knew that she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She took another sip and began silently planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter is going to be heating up... I honestly didn't know this was going to be thing™️ yet here we are


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all!!! i went too deep. i'm all in.
> 
> enjoy the wild ride.

It was only the next night, when Feyre put on her silk nightgown and prepared her bedroom. She cleared away her easel and placed her most comfortable chair in the middle of the pentagram.

Her bedroom was dimly lit by a few candles and her curtains were shut tightly. By now, she had learned the summoning spell by heart and she didn’t need to take the book with her.

Feyre sat down at the edge of the bed, her feet almost touching the edge of the chalk marks and began speaking.

Rhysand appeared midway through the chant. And Feyre was so surprised that she let out a little shriek. "I wasn’t done yet." She spat at him reflexively.

"I apologise, darling. I got a little excited." Rhys said, winking at her. Then he seemed to take in their new location and his expression shifted. "With good reason, I suppose."

His gaze was heavy and heated and Feyre licked her lips.

"I’m not letting you out of there." She told him firmly and it looked like he was pouting. "Why?"

"Because," Feyre said, firmly and pushed herself further onto the bed, his eyes tracking her movements. "you’re a demon, Rhysand."

" _Rhysand_?" He asked, placing a hand on his chest where a heart might be. "I am deeply offended. What happened to calling me an arrogant bastard?"

She shook her head silently and fixed her eyes on him. "I want to try something."

His hand dropped from his chest and he slid it into his pocket. "I’m listening." His voice was a sensual caress that flowed through the room and settled onto her skin like a rush of cool air.

"I want you to take off your clothes." She told him, before she could loose her nerve. Before she could think too much about what she was doing.

He looked down at the chair behind him then and smirked, understanding her plan. "And if I refuse?" He asked, sounding not at all like he was planning on refusing. Not when he was looking at her body like she was a meal. Which, to be fair, she was.

Still, Feyre liked the way he looked at her. It actually drove her crazy. Made her feel alive in a way she had never felt before.

"Then you can leave and I can take care of myself." She said with as much false bravado as she could muster.

His chuckle was dark and soft and so, _so_ alluring. Feyre leaned against the headboard and made sure that her nightgown hadn’t ridden up all the way.

Without another word, Rhys’ hands began unbuttoning the fine black jacket he was wearing. One by one, they popped open to expose an equally dark shirt beneath. Feyre watched with rapt attention as he shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and let it fall down. Then he tugged off his shirt and dropped it, too.

Feyre’s mouth was dry as her eyes roamed over the strong panes of his chest. He had a tattoo on one side and Feyre wanted to reach out and trace the intricate lines with her fingers, her lips, her tongue.

He smirked at her and purred softly, "Let me out and you can do whatever you want with me, darling."

Feyre swallowed and spread her legs a little, so that he could peek between them and see the slip of lace that covered her. He sucked in a deep breath, sniffed the air. He looked almost disappointed. "I can’t smell you through the shield."

Now it was her time to smirk. "Poor demon." She mocked him and spread her legs a little more. The cold air was a welcome touch against the heat that was building between her legs.

His eyes fixed on her and he stilled; watching her.

But Feyre wasn’t having any of that. She wanted to see more. "You’re not naked yet." She reminded him. "And take a seat." She added, hinting to the chair behind him with one foot.

He took his seat and when he was leaning against the back of the chair, he unbuttoned his pants and Feyre sat up straighter to see him better.

His cock was hard and when he wrapped his hand around it, Feyre bit down on her lip. Satisfied with him obeying her orders, she leaned back a little, sliding one of her hands to cup her breast through the thin silk, while her legs fell on either side of her, exposing her to him.

"Feyre." Rhys said, his voice a broken plea and the sound drove Feyre insane. She palmed her breast more roughly, craving his hands on her, imaging how he would feel and slipped the other hand between her legs and pushed her underwear aside.

She used one finger to slid through her wet folds, her eyes half-closed but watching him. His own hand began moving, matching her pace. She let out a little groan as she dipped that finger inside her and pinched her peaked nipple.

"Please, Feyre." Rhys said again and Feyre saw that his other hand was grabbing the fabric of his pants. She slid her finger out and up for her clit, rubbing the sensitive spot und she could feel sparks flying behind her eyelids.

"Rhys." She moaned, throwing her head back, but keeping her eyes on him. His grip was harder now, faster as he licked his lips and those eyes burned with desire.

She pushed the neckline of her nightgown down, exposing her breast and twisted the nipple again. He groaned, and she watched as a thin line of sweat ran down his temple.

Feyre shifted her hand, so that her thumb was against her clit and her other fingers were free to move inside her. She inserted two and matched his pace. Her breathing hitched and she was biting her bottom lip to keep her screams in.

Rhys made a sound so guttural that Feyre released her bottom lip and arched, moaning his name. She pushed deeper, faster and rubbed against her clit until she was shaking and her muscles were so tense, she might snap at any moment.

"Come for me, Feyre darling." Rhys growled and Feyre obeyed. Her release barreling through her like a crushing wave. She made a sound like a broken sob and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she saw Rhys with his head thrown back and spilling all over his hand, moaning her name like it was a prayer.

She let out a breathless chuckle. A praying demon.

Their gazes met and that insufferable smirk was back on his lips as he tucked himself back into his pants. "Let me out and I’ll make you scream, darling."

She felt a tingle at his words, but she couldn’t let him seduce her into dropping her guard. So, Instead, she pulled her nightgown back over her breast and stretched out her legs. "Next time, maybe. I’m rather tired."

"It was a pleasure, as always." Rhys said, eyes twinkling at the double meaning of his words. Feyre gave him another small chuckle and watched as he sketched a small bow and disappeared in that cloud of darkness.

His clothes and the glass of her blood vanished with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my favorite thing right now, so if you like it, pls let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin makes a brief appearance.

The next morning, Feyre had a spring in her step and had to stop herself from whistling a merry tune as she made her way to class. Her professor approached her almost immediately, one dark eyebrow sharply raised.

Amren was tiny, but scary. With her quicksilver eyes and blood-red lips she looked more like a demon than Rhys did. Feyre had to suppress a smile at the thought of him and focused on the woman before her.

"Show me, girl." Amren said by way of greeting.

Feyre made sure that her eye roll was hidden from sight as she pulled the paintings out of her folder. The one on top was that initial painting of Rhysand, but she had done many more since then. She hadn't needed him to stand for each one because the sight of him seemed to be permanently etched behind her eyelids.

She had drawn sketches of the embroidery on his dark clothes, the membrane of his wings (at least as much as she had been able to see in the cramped space of the pentagram), the shape of his hands, the sharp angles of his face and _his eyes_. Feyre had drawn his eyes over and over and over again.

Sometimes, they were surrounded by his face, sometimes they were like pools that looked into a galaxy of their own and sometimes it was just a set of eyes that enticed her to look at the painting for a very long time.

She spread the pages out on the desk and leaned back to let Amren take a look.

Amren clicked her tongue and Feyre looked up, only to find those silver eyes already on her.

"What is this?" She hissed.

Feyre shrugged, swallowing the terror that Amren’s voice had caused in her and tried to sound casual, "I saw a drawing and was inspired."

It was the truth. She had been inspired by that drawing of Rhys in the book. And she didn’t need to tell Amren that she had actually summoned a demon to use as a model. So, Feyre picked up one of the drawings of his eyes and held it under her professor’s nose. "What do you think about this one?"

Amren gave her a long look before snatching the heavy paper from her hands and studying it with those cunning eyes. Feyre watched as her gaze fixed on different spots on the paper and those quicksilver eyes narrowed further.

"It’s not bad." She said finally and Feyre grinned.

Coming from Amren that was high praise. So Feyre took back the painting and sat up a little straighter. After the few months in which Amren had told her to _"pull yourself together, girl"_ over and over again and dismissed each one of her paintings, Feyre felt very accomplished. And thankful to Rhys.

The past couple weeks of her relationship with Tamlin had been hell. She hadn’t realised how truly unhappy she had been, how joyless her life had become. She hadn’t felt like painting or doing anything, but day after day, she had studied the roses in Tamlin’s garden and had painted them for Amren to judge.

Then, everything had well and truly fallen apart and the thought of holding a brush had turned Feyre’s bones brittle and caused her spine to lock up.

But one look at that drawing of Rhysand and that emptiness in her chest had filled with desire. Not just desire to paint or desire for him. But with a desire to live. To thrive.

Amren had left her without another word and stood at the front of the classroom. She told them that today’s class was about lines. That at the end of it, everyone should hand in at least five sketches.

And Feyre got to work. With Rhys in her mind, she always had something she wanted to draw next.

—

Feyre was on her way back home, when someone wrapped a hand around her upper arm and stopped her. Her stomach dropped as she turned and saw those familiar features framed by golden hair. His green eyes were burning into her.

Tamlin.

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held firm. "Feyre." He said, his tone pleading. Soft.

A chill went down her spine and  Feyre was already shaking her head. "Let go of me, Tamlin."

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. It had been a very long time since Tamlin had respected any of her wishes. Why should now be any different?

But Feyre didn’t back down. She was in the middle of a crowded street and all she had to do was lift her voice and surely, someone would come to her aid.

"I’ll scream." She warned him and Tamlin - to her surprise - let go.

But he didn’t step away from her. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair and huffed out a breath. "I’m sorry, Feyre. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please, you need to forgive me."

Feyre took a step back, widening the gap between their bodies and inhaled sharply. "I don’t need to do _anything_ , Tamlin."

He blinked at her in surprise and Feyre just scowled at him. "We’re broken up. We’re done. I don’t have to forgive you or listen to you or see you."

She felt her heart beating wildly against her chest and this emotion was so different from what she had felt when she had summoned a demon. Feyre realised that standing here, in broad daylight, before the man she loved, she was more terrified than she had been while facing Rhys.

She took another step back. "Leave me alone."

"Why?" Tamlin growled, taking two steps towards her. "Why are you giving up on us? Am I not allowed to make a single mistake?" His hands were balled to fists and shaking.

Feyre’s bottom lip was trembling. "I can’t do this, Tamlin."

And with that, she took off. Not caring about him. Not caring about the people she bumped into as she ran.

Feyre didn’t stop running until she reached the front door of her building and only when she was safely inside her own apartment and had locked the door, did she let herself fall apart.

She didn’t break down, instead, she crouched to where she had once before drawn a pentagram and traced the faint outline of it. She reached for a glass and knife to draw her blood. Through her sobs, she chanted for him and sat down on her knees before the pentagram to wait for him.

It took him a few long moments to appear and when he did, he was wearing something that looked like armour. Made of dark scales and dusted with mud and dirt. His wings were out and there was sweat running down his temple. He was panting, as he whirled around on one leg and steadied himself.

"Feyre, darling." He drawled, but his smirk vanished when he spotted her on the floor, sobbing.

He crouched down immediately, getting as close as the barrier let him and looked at her with wide, concerned eyes. "What happened?" Rhys’ voice was low and threatening but it soothed the wild, terrified animal that had awoken at the sight of her ex-boyfriend.

She shook her head, not able to speak through her sobs. Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her side against the hard shield of air between them. Rhys settled down on the other side of the barrier, tucking in his wings and stretching his legs until they hit the other end of the pentagram.

"Shh, it’s alright, Feyre." He murmured in a soothing voice. "You’re all right now."

She kept crying as Rhys kept murmuring in that soothing voice and slowly, the tightness in her chest eased and Feyre could breathe again. When her lungs finally had enough air, she whispered, "I’m sorry."

"What could you possibly sorry for?" Rhys asked, brows furrowing.

Feyre used the sleeve of her top to clear the tears and snot from her face and sniffled a little. "For calling you here only to bawl my eyes out."

He chuckled softly at that. "Don’t worry, darling. I told you, that I would come whenever you called me."

She rasped a little chuckle of her own. "Yeah, but I think you had something else in mind."

He remained silent for so long, that Feyre dared to look into his face.

"Yes," Rhys began, his eyes twinkling with something earnest and intense and _exciting_. "But I will take anything you offer me, Feyre darling."

She gave him a tentative smile. "Thank you."

Then his features shifted into that feline amusement Feyre had grown used to. "Now, why don’t you tell me what has gotten you so upset."

Feyre inhaled a deep breath and exhaled all the shakiness from her body. "First, I need something to drink." Then she looked at him and added a bit sheepishly, "If that’s okay with you, that is?"

His smirk only grew and Rhys reached for the glass with her blood in it. "It’s only fair, since you’ve already offered me some refreshment."

Feyre shook her head, scoffing, as she stood to made herself a cup of tea. She could feel Rhys’ eyes on her the whole time and whenever she looked over her shoulder, he winked at her.

As she waited for the water to boil, Feyre’s mind cleared and she realised what she had done. The encounter with Tamlin had left her so raw, so terrified, that she had fled from him and summoned Rhys at the first chance she had gotten. She hadn’t even thought about why she needed him to calm her. Why she hadn’t picked up her phone and called Mor or Cassian to help her.

But as Rhys winked at her for the fifth time, Feyre let go of those dark thoughts and picked up her mug to carry it back to the coffee table. She stood between the pentagram and the couch and realised that in her haste, she had forgotten to provide Rhys with at least a chair.

"It’s quite alright, darling." Rhys purred, following her gaze from where he sat on the floor and the couch. "Make yourself comfortable, I have been in worse places."

She believed him, but even as she let herself fall into the couch, she felt bad for making him sit on the ground. The temptation to just wipe at the chalk marks and invite him to sit beside her was just too strong.

"So, where you do live?" Feyre asked him instead, curling her fingers around the mug and leaning in to feel the heat in her face.

Rhys leaned again the barrier, his head cocked to the side. "I thought that mortals were taught about hell in school." He mused, crossing one ankle over the other and looking so different from the man- no _demon_ that he had been last night.

Feyre sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, but since I have never actually been to hell, I would like to get a first person— _demon_ account of the place."

He huffed a small laugh and leaned his head against the barrier to look at the ceiling. "It’s always dark in hell, Feyre darling." He said, his soft for once devoid of that wicked amusement. "Of course, we can see in the dark, but there’s no sun, no moon. There are no stars in hell."

Feyre swallowed the lump in her throat. Somehow Rhys was always connected to the night sky in her mind. With those remarkable eyes of his, he belonged somewhere, where he could look up at the stars whenever he wished.

"That sounds terrible." She said softly.

His gaze slid to hers and the corner up his lips tugged up. Barely. "It is."

And just because of the way his face looked right then, small and sad and broken, she placed her cup down and stood from the couch. He watched as she walked to her bag and pulled out the folder that held her artwork.

She approached him and slid down to sit as close to him as the barrier would allow. She flipped open the folder and pulled out her drawings of him. "I think you might enjoy these." She told him softly.

And as she had hoped, that sadness was slowly replaced by an awed expression. "You’re very talented." He said and turned his body so that he could get a better look.

She blushed and showed him the other pages. While he looked at her artwork, Feyre looked at him. She was sure that the awed expression on his face was mirrored on her own.

Feyre had known from that first glimpse of him that he was mesmerizing, but there was something else about him that made him irresistible. Again, the urge to erase the barrier between them crept up her spine and Feyre bit her lip.

She picked out one of the paintings. One she was particularly proud of and held it up for him. "I want you to have this."

His eyes flicked up to hers, brows high. "Why?"

She shrugged. "So you can see the stars whenever you want, Rhys."

Something soft and incredibly pained flashed across his face, but it was gone almost instantly. If Feyre hadn't been studying him so closely, she would have missed it. He gave her a tentative smile. "Thank you, Feyre."

Feyre felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the softness in his tone. So different from when he was smirking and winking and teasing her. But still, she felt that pull towards him. They looked at each other for a long while, both of them smiling softly and Feyre was searching for the right words, when the sound of footsteps from outside her door drew their attention.

Then someone began pounding on the door. "Feyre? Are you in there? Feyre, open up!"

It was Mor. Her voice shrill, panicked and Feyre knew instantly that someone must have told her about the encounter with Tamlin. She glanced at Rhys and whispered, "You need to leave. Please."

"Until next time, Feyre darling." Rhys inclined his head and disappeared.

Before the smoke he left behind had evaporated, Feyre reached for the rug that was still rolled up and threw it over the pentagram. She noticed that her offered painting had vanished, too. Then, she hurried to the door and let Mor in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in love with this fic, but classes have started so I'll probably won't be posting under the week


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre makes a deal with ~~the devil~~ Rhys

Mor was raging. Pacing on the rug that covered the pentagram, hands on her hips, muttering about how she would rip Tamlin’s head off.

Feyre had sat back down on the couch, drinking her rapidly cooling tea. She had offered to fix Mor a cup as well, but the blonde had been too riled up for tea.

"I’m going to call Cassian, so we can go over there and rip his throat out." Mor gritted through her teeth and Feyre let out a low chuckle.

"Mor, calm down." She finally said and patted the empty spot beside her. "Sit down, take a deep breath."

Her friend stopped pacing and looked at her with incredulous eyes. "How are you so calm, Feyre? My friend told me you ran away from him. Yet here you are, looking like nothing’s bothering you."

Feyre sighed. Deeply. And then she put her cup down and pulled her knees to her chest. "I’m not calm. I’m not acting like nothing’s happened. But I know Tamlin and I knew that he would seek me out eventually. I can’t let him ruin my life any more than he already has."

Mor seemed to deflate at those words. Ducking her head, she let herself fall into the cushions next to Feyre. "I’m sorry, you’re right."

Feyre gave her a timid smile and tipped her head back. "I did freak out, you know?" She told her friend quietly. "And I would love nothing more than set you and Cassian on him and watch you tear him a new one, but I don’t think that’s the way to heal."

Mor grumbled dejectedly. "I know."

For a few moments, both of them just stared off into the distance and Feyre thought that Mor must surely be remembering how she had showed up at her doorstep at 2 am, eyes rimmed with tears, bruised and panicked and begging for somewhere to stay.

She swallowed and took Mor’s hand into hers, squeezing tightly. "Thank you for being my friend. For everything you’ve done for me."

Mor turned to look at her. Her lovely brown eyes were filled with something fierce and unyielding. "You’re my best friend, Feyre. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you."

Feyre blinked back her tears and slung her arms over Mor’s shoulders and pulled her into an awkward hug. With her knees between them, both of them strained to hold the other, but Mor’s grip was as fierce as her eyes and her words.

They let go of each other and both of them chuckled at the others tear-filled eyes.

Feyre sniffled and brushed a tear from her cheek. But Mor was the one to speak first, "Ok, no more sadness. Let’s do something fun. What are you in the mood for? Rita’s?"

Feyre huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, let’s go to Rita’s."

Mor just clapped her hands together like a happy toddler and jumped to her feet. "I’m gonna call Cassian."

And Feyre smiled to herself, as she watched Mor make the call and bark orders to their friend to meet them at their usual spot for drinks and dancing. It was in that moment, that Feyre was immensely grateful for her friends. She honestly didn’t know, what she would do if she hadn’t met them.

—

The night out with Mor and Cassian distracted Feyre from her dark thoughts of Tamlin and her heated thoughts of Rhys for the night. But when she awoke the next day, with a pounding headache no less, she was thinking about one of the two. Rhys.

She hadn’t lied when she told Mor that Tamlin had ruined her life enough and Feyre knew that he didn’t deserve her worrying about the impact he would have on her life. She had wasted too much time on him already. No, she wouldn’t waste any more.

Instead, Feyre took a shower, ate breakfast and drank copious amounts of coffee and took an advil. Once she didn’t feel like dying and swearing off of alcohol forever, she headed to the library. As an art student, she didn’t spend as much time there as Cassian and Mor, who practically lived there, but she still had a fair amount of work that needed literary references.

And the campus library had many books about demons. She wanted to find out more about Rhysand, know who or what she was spending so much time with.

Upon reaching the library, Feyre dumped her coat and bag in the sitting area near the high windows and turned the music on her headphones down a little. She didn’t know where the mythology and history sections where, so she made her way quietly down the shelves. Even though she was doing something completely natural, Feyre felt the need to look over her shoulders every now and then. There weren’t a lot of students that were looking at the books about demons and as an art student, she could use the excuse that she was looking for an inspiration, but still— Feyre didn’t want anyone surprising her.

Finally, she found the right section and narrowed her search down to a few shelves. There she found books about demons in general and about specific demons. She flipped through a few of the books, looking at the index to check for any mention of Rhys.

Feyre was surprised to find him in the second book. The book was titled _The Lords of Edom_ and Feyre put the book aside as a shiver ran down her back. Within the next ten minutes, she found three more promising books. One was titled _Deals with Demons_. The two other books were about the history and mythology regarding hell and how demons came to be.

Rhys was right, they did learn about hell in school but Feyre had never much cared for the religious aspect of their culture. They had long since stopped worshipping gods and fearing demons. Although a few groups were still adamant in believing that there were gods and monsters and magic in this world.

Feyre now had to agree with them. And it seemed in her best interest to learn more about the subject matter.

So, holding onto the books, she went back to her seat and began reading.

—

"I want to make a bargain with you."

Rhys’ eyes flicked up to hers, brows high and something like wicked amusement glinting in those violet depths. "Is that so?"

Feyre straightened her spine and took a step closer to the edge of the pentagram. She had spent most of the day in the library and with many, many more books. And she had found out a lot of things about Rhysand and about how hell worked. And, the more she read, the more she knew that this was what she wanted to do.

"Is it true that you can’t leave hell without being summoned?" She asked back, fighting against the urge to cross her arms. Not to put distance between them, but the knowledge that now weighed on her.

His eyes flickered with that sadness and he dipped his chin. "Yes, Feyre, I can not leave hell unless a mortal calls for me."

She swallowed her fear and fisted her hands to her sides. "And is it true that you might be freed from hell — might be free to come and go as you wish — if a human binds themselves to you?"

His mouth fell open in surprise. He took half a step back and just looked at her. "Yes."

Feyre swallowed again and relaxed her hands. "What do I have to do?"

But Rhys was already shaking his head and darkness leeched from him, wrapping around his form. "No, I can’t ask that of you, it’s too much."

"Rhys." Feyre said firmly and took another step towards the barrier. "You’re not the one who’s asking. I am. I want to do this."

This time it was him who swallowed, this throat bobbing. "It’s too much." He repeated and his words were silent, barely a whisper.

She gave him a small smile. "It’s not. Because I want something in return."

Now, his eyes narrowed and he looked at her more closely. Almost suspiciously. And as if remembering their last meeting, he regained his composure. His hands slid into his pockets, his face smoothed and Feyre watched as Rhys slid back behind his mask.

She almost wanted to beg him to drop it. But she didn’t.

"Do you know what you have to give in order for me to be free?" He asked, his voice steady now.

Feyre nodded. For every day and night a human spent in hell, a demon might be allowed to roam freely for a month. She was scared of what awaited her in hell, but what she had learned today was worse. And she couldn’t leave Rhys to a fate like that.

And she would get something in return.

"Then what do you want me to do for you, Feyre darling?" Rhys asked, trying to summon his usual smirk, but the light in his eyes was still dimmed.

Feyre tried a smirk of her own and lifted her chin. "I want you to give me some of your power. To teach me how to use it. To defend myself. To fight."

Now, he was smirking fully. And if Feyre was honest, something like wicked delight shone in his eyes. "Are you sure? One day and one night in hell every month for a kernel of my power, Feyre darling."

"Yes." Feyre said immediately, not looking away from those eyes. That face. "I am sure."

"Then it’s a bargain." Rhys said and Feyre felt a wave of white hot pain run from her hand up to her shoulder and chest. When she looked down, she spotted a tattoo that started from her palm and twined up her arm. She had known that their bargain would be sealed with one, but she hadn’t expected it to be so prominent.

Feyre frowned at the tattoo, then at him. Rhys just shrugged, giving her a roguish grin.

"So, Feyre darling," Rhys drawled. "When can I expect you to visit my lovely home?"

She bit her lip and studied her tattoo. There was an eye in the center of her palm and Feyre traced her finger from it up a swirling line until she reached her elbow. Then she looked up and found Rhys’ gaze. "I have classes tomorrow. So, does saturday work for you?"

"Saturday, it is." Rhys said, smirking. "Until then, Feyre darling."

"Until then, Rhysand." Feyre echoed and watched as Rhys vanished.

For a long while Feyre just stood there at the edge of the pentagram, thinking about what she had just done. She would be spending a day and a night in hell for the ability and power to protect herself from Tamlin, from anyone who would think to harm her.

And, with the bargain between them, Rhys wouldn’t dare harm her. Because if something happened to her, he would be forced to return to hell, would be forced to give up his freedom. Which meant that Feyre could finally let him out of his cage.

Despite everything, she didn’t regret her decision. Actually, she felt a thrill running through her veins and when she looked at her tattooed hand, she could have sworn the eye in her palm winked at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* is this a plot?  
> if you notice that the chapter count keeps going up, it's because i keep getting more ideas for scenes i want to write.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre visits hell and her bargain with Rhys gets finalized.
> 
> Also, they finally hold hands. A lot.

The days passed quickly and Feyre forced herself to finish her assignments she would’ve usually put off for the weekend. She didn’t know what Rhys had planned for her first day in hell, but somehow she doubted, that she would have the time to do her homework.

She didn’t tell Mor or Cassian about what she had done and had managed to hide her new tattoo from them simply by wearing long sleeves and gloves to their two brief meetings. But she couldn’t put it off much longer. At least, she had to show them the tattoo. And once they took a good look at it, there was no denying its demonic origin. She might be able to play it off as something she found in a book, but maybe with it being their primary area of study, Mor and Cassian would be able to read the markings and gleam its meaning.

Either way, Feyre would worry about that later. For now, she tried to _not_ think about the adventurous weekend that lay ahead and tried to keep herself as busy as possible. After finishing all her class work, she tidied up her apartment and wondered if she should pack a bag. Somehow, she doubted that there were toothbrushes in hell. And then, she wondered if there were sinks. Or bathrooms.

As she felt the clawing grip of panic tighten around her chest, she plopped down on the couch and tried to distract herself by turning on the television. She had always liked supernatural stories and had a hard time finding a show that wouldn’t remind her of what was to come. Finally she settled on a mindless comedy about a family that was in debt and tried to pay it off by joining a travelling circus, but couldn’t concentrate on that either.

It was too early to sleep, yet too late to do something extensive. The urge to scream was building steadily in her throat, constricting her air flow and her heart was beating furiously against her ribcage.

Finally, she gave up and reached for one of the books she had gotten from the library and began reading.

—

She was woken up by a tug. She gasped awake, looking down at her chest, where something had pulled on a rib. And as she watched, it happened again. A small tug, not strong enough to hurt but just enough for her to be woken up fully and pulling all her attention to it.

She blinked for a few moments, trying to get her mind reordered. She had fallen asleep on her couch and the book had slipped down to the floor, still open on the last page, she had studied.

Then her eyes went to the tattoo on her hand and she caught the eye staring up at her. It blinked.

A voice filled her mind. _It’s time, darling. Summon me._

If she had been standing her legs might have given out at the sound of Rhys’ voice speaking inside her mind. Instead, she dropped her tattooed hand and closed her eyes. Surely, she must still be asleep and this was a weird dream.

_Not a dream, Feyre._ Rhys’ endlessly amused voice spoke inside her head. _It’s almost dawn._

Feyre’s eyes flashed open. Still not quite understanding how this was possible, she stood on shaky legs and went to prepare to summon Rhys. As she slid a shallow cut on her arm and let a few drops of blood trickle into a cup, she prepared coffee for herself.

Somehow the sight of the two cups on her counter made her laugh. Blood and coffee.

She wanted to sit down and think about what exactly she thought she was doing but that tug at her chest, told her that she had to hurry.

So, she took a long sip of her coffee and bent down to draw the pentagram.

Feyre spoke the words to summon Rhys loudly as she wandered into her bedroom, running her hands through her hair. She pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and socks from her drawers as Rhys materialised in the living room and called out to him. "I’ll be out in a moment."

She didn’t wait for his reply before kicking her bedroom door shut to change into the fresh clothes.

"Good morning to you, too, Feyre darling." Rhys grumbled, his voice lacking its usual amusement. There was a forced lightness in his tone and Feyre wondered if he too was nervous about this.

Once she was dressed, she headed back into the living room and tried not to fidget. "How can you speak into my mind?" She asked him, frowning.

"It’s all part of our lovely new bargain." Rhys told her, his eyes flashing to the tattoo on her arm.

Feyre crossed her arms in response. "Yeah, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that."

He chuckled and slipped his own hands into his pockets. "We’ll have time for that later. Are you ready?"

"I don’t know." Feyre told him, truthfully. "I packed a bag."

His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Did you now?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "It’s not like you told me what would be waiting for me there."

"Later, Feyre darling." Rhys said. "Up here, even the walls have ears."

She scoffed at his dramatic words but picked up her bag and coffee before approaching him. "So, how do we do this, then?"

He was grinning now. A wicked grin that had her stomach doing a backflip and reminding her, that despite their bargain and his interest in her continued well-being, he was still a demon.

She swallowed hard.

"You’re going to let me out." Rhys said, his voice rough and full of promise. "And then I’ll have a tiny sip of your blood."

She looked at the cup at his feet and he followed her gaze. His eyes sparked with mischief and desire. "No, fresh from the tap — as you mortals say." He added with a wink and Feyre tried to ignore the shiver that ran down her back.

"And then?" She asked, her voice barely a croak.

"Then, I’ll take you to my home."

Feyre let her bag drop with a heavy thud and placed her coffee on the table beside her. Then she approached the pentagram. She bent down, not looking away from his eyes and whispered the words that would allow her hand to pass through the barrier between them. Then, she wiped at the chalk marks to create an opening and felt a rush of air pass by as the barrier fell away.

Their eyes were still locked when she rose back up and Rhys took two steps to cross the line. Then, his body was just inches away from hers and she could feel the heat and power radiating off of him.

His smell was intoxicating. A blend of the sea and citrus and something dark and mysterious that made her mouth water.

She almost let her eyes fall shut and breathe deeply until his scent filled her lungs completely. But some semblance of common sense still resided in her as she tracked his every movement.

Rhys’ nostrils flared, his pupils growing impossibly wide, swallowing up the night sky and stars in his eyes and a low appreciative hum ripped from his throat. The sound send shivers down her spine.

Then he was reaching for her, slowly, as if she was a skittish animal that might bolt at the slightest sign of danger.

Which was ridiculous, since she hadn’t moved an inch and she had called for him so many times already.

She wouldn’t run. Not from him. She wanted this.

His fingers curled around her wrist and Feyre could have sworn that the air around them sparked as they touched. His hands were gentle despite the callouses as he lifted her arm to his lips.

Feyre was faintly aware that she was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly as they kept looking at each other. The corner of Rhysand’s mouth tugged up as his nose grazed the skin on the inside of her wrist.

"Relax, darling." He whispered, his lips brushing against her skin. "It won’t hurt."

A small gasp escaped her as a tendril of darkness flicked over her wrist, leaving a thin cut there. Blood welled and Rhys’ pressed his lips against it.

Despite the look on his face, full of hunger and something else Feyre couldn’t name, his lips were soft against her skin. She felt his tongue brush against the cut and she shivered, finally closing her eyes as Rhys drank from her.

He was right. It didn’t hurt.

However, she was overwhelmed by another feeling.

Heat pooled in her core as Rhys gently, almost lovingly pushed his tongue flat against the cut. He let out a small growl, that sent fire straight down to her core and Feyre stepped closer to him, unable to stop herself.

Now that the barrier was gone, there was nothing stopping her. And she lifted her hand to touch him. She felt something curl around her, something oppressive and calming at the same time and she opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by that dark power of his.

And as the darkness closed in, Rhys snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She felt her feet leave the floor and for a second, she though he had lifted her up, but then she realised that they had left her apartment altogether.

They were floating in complete darkness and Feyre had the wild thought that they were out in space somewhere.

Then, his power lifted from them and her feet were on steady ground again.

_Hell._

The thought clanged through her, pulling her from the haziness that had overcome her Rhys drank her blood.

She took a step back from him, looking at her surroundings.

They were in a hallway that seemed to be carved out of grey rock. It was barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side and the ends on either sides were too dark to see much else.

A torch lit the alcove they stood in.

Rhys pressed a finger to his lips, before taking her hand and pulling her forward. His footsteps were silent as they moved and Feyre tightened her fingers around his because she had the terrifying feeling that he might disappear like smoke on the wind if she let go and she would be left alone in this place.

His grip was firm and assuring and she let him lead her forward until her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Bit by bit, she make out more of their surroundings. There were intricate designs carved into the rock on either side. Little beasts that looked a lot like the illustrations she had seen in the books.

Other demons, she realised and shivered.

Feyre lost track of how much time passed and sweat began to coat her back, her brow. Her hand had gone slick in his and she wanted to let go of him to wipe away the sweat. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to stop holding onto him.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her shallow breaths were like strikes of thunder in the silence of the cave.

Finally, after minutes or hours or years, they reached a set of high double doors. More those monsters were carved in the stone and Rhys made to let go of her hand.

A small noise slipped from her throat in protest and he stopped. His other hand lifted and he opened the door, still holding onto her.

The cavern before them was enormous. The ceiling so high that it was impossible to seeit from where she stood. Yet, everywhere she looked, there were those carved demons. Every inch of this place was covered in them.

The round cavern was wide enough to fit a football field in it and at the far end of it, she could spot a slab of black stone.

Rhys led her to that stone and Feyre realised too late that it was an altar.

For a moment the image of humans tied to an altar like that, screaming and bleeding out flashed before her and her step stumbled. She had seen many illustrations like that during her research.

_There’s no need to be scared, Feyre. You’re not to become my virgin sacrifice._ Rhys’ voice echoed in her mind, faintly amused.

She gritted her teeth and blindly pushed a thought back, not knowing if he would receive it. _Yeah, I know about the virgin part because that ship has sailed a_ long _time ago. Though, I’m still not convinced about the rest._

She looked at him, only to find him smirking down at her. _Good to know. We just need to make our bargain official. No more of your blood is involved._

So, he could hear her, too. She didn’t ask more though, because they were now close enough for her to see that the altar was black marble, streaked with veins of silver shining faintly in the light of the few torches.

And atop the altar, she spotted a goblet and a dagger that was longer than her forearm. Both of them were covered in glittering rubies.

Rhys squeezed her hand once before slipping out of the touch. Feyre watched as Rhys shrugged out of his jacket, then rolled up the sleeve of his dark shirt.

His muscles shifted as he moved and despite her blind terror at being in hell for cauldron’s sake, she couldn’t help but swallow hard at the sight of the tattooed skin that he had revealed.

He picked up the dagger and Feyre sucked in a sharp breath as Rhys cut into his own skin. Deeply. The blood that welled from the cut looked different. It was darker; almost black.

He twisted his wrist, letting the blood drip into the goblet and Feyre had the horrible feeling that she knew what she had to do to seal their bargain.

She swallowed again, now for a different reason, when Rhys held the goblet out to her. But.. She took it and lifted it to her lips.

He gave her a small nod and Feyre tilted the goblet and drank.

It didn’t taste like blood.

It didn’t taste like anything she could describe.

Well, maybe, the feeling of his power was the closest thing.

As she swallowed Rhys’ blood, that bond that had tugged on her that morning went taut and she almost choked.

"Keep drinking." Rhys whispered and she obeyed.

As she did so, she could feel the tattoo on her arm burning again.

His fingers wrapped over hers, covering them completely and gently pried the goblet from her lips. She let him take it, too occupied by the tingling that was spreading up from her arm and into her whole body.

She felt something settling against her bones, wrapping around them and seeping into her very being. With a gasp, she realised that tendrils of darkness were swirling around her, coming off her.

Feyre lifted her arms, watching as the inky darkness wrapped around her fingers and echoed their movements. There was a thread between her and that power. She could feel it.

She imagined the darkness drifting away from her, imagined that it simply vanished like smoke on the wind and after a few heart beats, it did.

"Good." Rhys said, his eyes wide with something like awe.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Feyre’s stomach choose that moment to grumble loudly and his lips snapped shut.

He gave her a small smirk that made her stomach tighten. "Time for breakfast."

When Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist once again and prepared to transport them someplace else, she was too stunned to protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what i'm doing anymore
> 
> pls leave some feedback bc honestly i still love this idea but i'm feeling a little lost


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY this took so damn long.
> 
> thanks to anyone who commented lately for giving me the strength and inspiration to FINALLY continue this baby.
> 
> (i have just written this and i haven't read through it for any typos or larger errors, so if this sucks, im sorry, i will ready over it in a bit but for now, im gonna get me some coffee, im sorry)
> 
> hope you like it, let me know if this was actually worth the wait or if i should just.... like... stop with this mess
> 
> but, seriously, THANK YOU for the huge support of this story. you're the real champs here <3

He gave her a small smirk that made her stomach tighten. "Time for breakfast."

When Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist once again and prepared to transport them someplace else, she was too stunned to protest.

They were swallowed up by a dark wind that smelled like how his blood had tasted and Feyre didn’t even realise that they had moved, because she had been too caught up in the mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

"Welcome to my home." Rhys purred as the darkness lifted and Feyre finally tore her gaze from him to take in their new surroundings.

They were in a room that was probably the size of her whole apartment. She could see a few closed doors, but what caught her attention was a large glass dining table complete with a dozen chairs on one side of the room and a set of couches on the other. Between both of them, there was a fireplace made from black marble, not unlike the stone of the altar they had just left behind.

But her gaze slid back to the dining table, laden with foods and drinks. Rhys chuckled at her slack jawed expression and crooned, "Don’t worry, darling, I won’t offer you rotten fruit and worms."

She let out a low breath, something between a scoff and a snort. But when Rhys made a flourishing movement, inviting her to sit at the table, Feyre moved. She almost rolled her eyes, when Rhys pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit, but she followed his silent command. Then, she watched him sit down across from her and once again got caught in his eyes.

Those eyes.

It felt like they had come alive down here. She had thought they were like the night sky when she had seen that drawing of him. Or when she had met him first. But now, those silver specks seemed to be glittering like stars and planets and she could have sworn the blues and purples and dusky blacks moved in great swirls.

"You’re staring." Rhys said, amusement colouring his voice.

Feyre swallowed hard and looked down to her plate, only to find a roll of bread and — to her surprise — butter and cheese and jams. She let out a little huff, "Where did you get this from? I honestly don’t think you have like a Target down in hell." And then, thinking about it, she added, "Although, I wouldn’t really be surprised at this point. Target really is everywhere."

Rhys winked at her, reaching for a jar of jam and just said, "I have some connections up there. And since a mortal will be my guest for the unforeseeable future, I thought I might offer you more than just rotten fruit and worms. Or, you know, the blood of virgins."

This time Feyre did scoff. She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the second cheeky wink he threw her way, but Feyre picked up the roll of bread and bit into it. "What’s your obsession with virgin blood? Like, can you even tell if someone is a virgin by drinking their blood?"

Rhys let out a soft laugh, taking a sip from a goblet that had magically appeared in his hands and smacked his lips. "Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know."

She again rolled her eyes, but the need for something in her stomach won out over her need to mindlessly argue her point.

Feyre was spreading butter on her bread, when Rhys spoke again. This time that undertone of amusement was gone and he suddenly sounded very serious. That tone sent a shiver down her spine. "Now that we’re away from listening ears, we need to establish a few rules regarding your stay here."

Feyre abandoned her food and locked eyes with him. "What kinds of rules?"

"You shouldn’t leave my private quarters without my company. Not at first. If you ever find yourself in a situation, where you’re alone with someone that isn’t me, you shouldn’t talk to them. Or at least, not tell them anything about yourself."

Feyre leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Am I your prisoner, then?"

Her jaw locked as she stared him down, trying desperately not to let the memories that were trying to overwhelm her through. In the back of her mind, she could hear another voice saying words that sounded very similar. Those thoughts were accompanied by green eyes and golden hair and a strong grip that left purple marks upon her arms.

"No." Rhysand cut in, his eyes widening and jaw clenching. "No, Feyre. You are not my prisoner. But you should know that I do not have many friends in hell and there are many demons who would jump at the chance to hurt you, just because you’re now bound to me."

His words didn’t calm her. But it seemed that Rhys could read the memories that were haunting her. "I’m not trying to control you. And this isn’t for my peace of mind. This is for your safety and once we’re back on earth, I would never think of telling you what to do or how to act. We might be bound by our bargain, but that doesn’t mean that you owe me anything. You are your own person and I would never dare to ask anything of your that you weren’t willing to give."

The sincerity in his eyes made her relax. She dropped her arms into her lap and couldn’t stand to look at him any longer. But she needed to know more. So, swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "Why do they hate you so much?"

Now it was his turn sigh, deeply. Feyre glanced at him, only to find his face buried in his hands. Like that, he looked human and defenceless and Feyre had the irrational urge to walk over to him and embrace him. To make his worries go away.

He looked up, one corner of his mind quirking up. "I wouldn’t mind that."

His voice was low, inviting and it heated Feyre’s blood until for a moment she forgot about where she was or what they had been talking about and remembered that she was now free to touch him. And that he could finally touch her.

This time her difficulties speaking came not from fear but from something else. She licked her lips and swallowed that irrational desire and asked again, "Why do they hate you so much?"

Rhys sat up, placing his elbows on the table and locking his hands underneath his chin. "They hate me, because the bitch that runs hell hates me and they want to stay in her good graces."

Feyre had many questions, but the first thing that came out of her mouth was, "A woman runs hell?"

His mouth barely quirked up. "That got your attention, huh? But don’t get too excited. She might be female, but she’s a monster."

"Aren’t all demons supposed to be that way, though?" She asked before she could help herself and she almost felt sorry for her remark when the light in his eyes dimmed a little.

"Do you think I’m a monster, Feyre?" His voice was low. Not threatening, not seducing, not anything. It was blank and the way he looked at her, it made her want to take back the words.

"I didn’t mean it like that." She said. "But you are a demon. You might be nice to me, but I don’t know you well enough to answer that."

He sighed, dropping his hands and leaning back in his seat. "Very well, you’re right about that."

Feyre scrambled for something to say and ended up with, "So, this female. Does she hate you?"

He rested his head on the back of the chair and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, yes. She most definitely does hate me. When she took power, only a handful of us did not fall in line and she has made our lives a - pardon the joke - living hell."

Feyre chuckled, albeit a little forcefully and finally looked back at her. There was sadness in his features now. "That first day, she banished half of the so-called rebels. They were forced to live on earth, stripped of their powers and bound in mortal bodies. The other half, she tortured and locked down here. She’s actually the reason, why I can not leave hell without a mortal binding themselves to me."

Feyre’s mouth dropped open. "How is it possible that a single person, or demon, can do that?"

Rhys gave her a smile, that didn’t reach his eyes. "She’s crafty and ruthless and does not care for anyone but herself. And she made sure that none of us could ever harm or dethrone her."

"I’m sorry." Feyre said, after a moment of silence. She could feel the sadness and despair radiating off him and this time, she did get out of her seat and walked towards him. She placed one hand on his shoulder, hesitating only briefly before sliding it up his neck and cupping his face.

He leaned into her touch, his whole body almost slumping down with a great heaved sigh and nuzzled her hand with his face. She could feel his lips on her palm and his hot breath send a shiver down her spine. When their eyes locked again, Feyre reached for him and embraced him.

Rhys fell into her arms, his face pressing into the crook of her neck. She could feel him inhaling her scent and then his own arms wound around her waist and she only held him tighter, slipping one hand up his neck and into his hair.

She could feel a slight vibration coming from his chest and realised a moment later, that he was purring as she kept stroking his hair. And then his lips were moving, placing gentle kisses to her exposed neck and Feyre let out a breath that might have been a sigh or a moan and held him tighter, urging him on.

**Author's Note:**

> feed my feedback hunger pls and say hi on tumblr @quakeriders


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